


The Sword of Aivy

by Ruis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dragons, Fantasy, Folklore, Gen, Magical Item, Magical Sword, Mythology References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 11:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/pseuds/Ruis
Summary: The blade should have been forged in a dark and stormy night. The weather in the valley, however, was persistently mild and friendly, and the beautiful village of Aivy had not seen a proper thunderstorm in months. Thus, what would become a legendary sword one day was created at only an overcast sky with an occasional bit of drizzle. That was the blacksmith’s first mistake.





	The Sword of Aivy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/gifts).

_The blade should have been forged in a dark and stormy night. The weather in the valley, however, was persistently mild and friendly, and the beautiful village of Aivy had not seen a proper thunderstorm in months. Thus, what would become a legendary sword one day was created at only an overcast sky with an occasional bit of drizzle. That was the blacksmith’s first mistake._

On his way to the dragon’s lair, accompanied with a muttered curse, Gareth had to adjust his sword belt yet again. Some hero he was, he thought morosely. His clothes were shabby and dusty and very soon he would have to stop to shake water out of his boot. Again. But just like the heroes of old, he had a magical sword. That had to count for something, right?

_Drip._

It was impractical to carry a weapon like this while walking but it had been worse when he had carried it on his back. He had not appreciated the womenfolk of Aivy pointing out to him, under all kinds of giggles and stares, the particular place in which his trousers were damp. There was one young lady in particular without whose ridicule he would have been so much happier. Some jokes about dripping swords he could have done without, too.

_Drop._

He hoped he was not lost. Gareth had a map, of course. He just had the impression the crossroads he had just passed was not drawn anywhere. Behind him in the dusty road only tiny craters, already dry again, bore witness of the tiny droplets falling down one after the other. 

_When Gareth had acquired his sword, it had been deeply embedded in stone. All of Aivy’s strongest men had tried to pull it out, straining their muscles and even hurting themselves in the process. In the end they gave up, saying that clearly a magical item like this was waiting for a very special owner. Gareth had not felt particularly special – but fortunately, Gareth knew the characteristics of limestone, and when he had returned at night with a bottle of vinegar, it had been quite easy to free the blade._

When he entered the lair, he was blind. The sunlight did not reach any further into the cave than just a few meters. His eyes needed some time to adjust to the perpetual gloom, and when he began to make out the first vague shapes of stalagmites and stalactites, the dragon without any doubt had already seen him. For a short moment, Gareth considered quietly leaving – not running, definitely not running, just a strategic retreat – but then he heard the dragons voice and froze in terror. At least the puddle at his feet could be blamed on his sword, or so he told himself.

_Drip._

“The power of thunderstorms in your hands, eh?”, the dragon said with what Gareth thought might have been a chuckle. “No worries, boy. You are quite safe. If the likes of you can find me on a map, the time has come to leave anyway.”

_Drop._

Gareth did not watch the dragon fly away. He stood in the cave, cursing quite loudly this time, and for the first time wielded the sword with all his might. Let someone else deal with that thing, he thought. He would go back to Aivy and ask his girl for a dance, and he would make sure to wear dry pants this time, too. And with that, he left the magical sword behind, never looking back although the sound of quiet dripping followed him for longer than he would have thought.

_What happened to the legendary sword afterwards is easy to deduce. We can assume it spent some quiet centuries in the cave, dripping and creating its very own dripstone again, until another young man pulled it out again. The rest, as they say, is history._


End file.
